“Ay, ay, sir.”
“No, no, for Heaven’s sake, no,” cried my father.
“Oh, just as you like,” said the slave captain. “I was going to give you the shackles; only I warn you, if you don’t have them on, that man as soon as you revive him will make for the river and drown himself, and the boy will be off into the woods.”
“Do what is best,” said my father, and the shackles were put on.
“Shall we hoist them into the boat for you?”
“If you please,” said my father, coldly.
“Heave ahead, my lads,” cried the slave captain; “and below there, get those brimstone-pans going at once.”
“Ay, ay,” came from below, and I saw a lighted lanthorn passed down as my father’s two slaves were hoisted over the side, and lowered into the boat, where Morgan stood ready with a grim smile upon his lip.
“You’ll get yours home first, Bruton,” said Colonel Preston, coming to my father’s side; “my boat’s all behind. I say, neighbour, don’t preach at me any more. You’re as bad as any of us, and I’m glad you’ve come to your senses at last.”
My father gave him a peculiar look, and then glanced at the group of slaves destined for the Preston property, where they stood huddled together quite apathetic and hopeless-looking.